


I'm nothing but a problem, leave you crying overnight

by ghostlyfroggy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, Panic Attacks, kind of ooc, tommy's parents arent actually like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27735946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlyfroggy/pseuds/ghostlyfroggy
Summary: He makes it to the end of his street before it fully sinks in that he, Tommyinnit, is officially fucking homeless. He has nowhere to go.Aka Tommy's parents aren't the best but his friends are there for himTitle from Wilbur Soot's "Your Sister Was Right"
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 258
Kudos: 2366
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	1. I Exist, I Exist, I Exist

He’s not quite sure when it starts. When the touches go from gentle and loving to something harsher, something painful and cold. He’s not sure what he did, but his parents are good people, he reasons, there must be a good reason. He must be doing something wrong.  
  
So he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything when his father smacks him for not doing his laundry, or when his mother shoves him into the wall when he doesn’t move fast enough. He doesn’t say anything when they keep him up into long hours of the night, screaming at each other.  
  
It’s been going on for probably close to a year when his channel blows up, when he hits 1 million, and then 2 million so soon after. He’s so incredibly proud of how far he’s come, he isn’t thinking when he interrupts his father’s work to glowingly show him the big numbers displayed on his phone. He’s rewarded with a stinging punch to his face. It’s what he deserves, he reasons. He doesn’t stream until the bruise fades. Tommyinnit is strong enough to handle it on his own.  
  
Yelling freaks him out. It’s a weakness he can’t afford to have, not when his friends are so loud and so many people are watching. He resolves to yelling louder than them, maybe if the only person he hears is himself he’ll be able to block out the sound of his racing heart. It only halfway works, and if he isn’t careful with his noise level he’ll receive bruised ribs.  
  
His parents have taken to being careful with punishments. They no longer mark him where it’s visible, where thousands of people could notice. He’s grateful for that. There’s only so many breaks he can take before his friends get suspicious.  
  
They’re not all bad, though. His dad takes him to meet Wilbur in Brighton, and he’s all tight-lipped smiles and warning glances. Tommy knows better than to say anything anyway. He knows his parents only want what's best for him, and if he wasn’t such a problem child they wouldn’t have to resort to this.  
  
All in all, Tommy loves his parents, and even if they don’t show it very often, he knows they have to love him too. He provides a steady income, so he has to be useful enough, right? Maybe if he works harder they’ll love him more.  
  
That’s what he’s thinking about when Wilbur interrupts his thought process with a snappy, “Tommy!” He sits up straighter and tunes back into the conversation.  
“Sorry, what?” He asks, moving his minecraft character around to look at Wilbur’s. He laughs, a bit incredulously.  
  
“You’re live man, you can’t zone out with close to 70,000 viewers.” Tommy barks out a quick laugh, rubs his eyes subtly. “Was just thinking of my primes, Wilbur, head full, big man thoughts, you know?” Wil snorts, and they move on.  
  
After he’s done streaming, they join a vc with Techno and Phil. Tommy secretly thinks they’re the coolest people he’s ever met, besides maybe Tubbo, and he wonders not for the first time how he’s managed to weasel his way into the “Sleepy Bois”. He’d rather die before admitting it, but he actually does see them as family, even if he pretends it’s not “canon” on streams.  
  
He’s gotten in hot water for that before, when his dad had been watching a stream of his and had caught onto how they jokingly referred to Phil as their dad. He’d been called into his office when he’d gotten done streaming, and his father had given him a scathing speech about how he shouldn’t say shit like that, and “Was he not good enough for Tommy?”. Needless to say, he’d gone to bed with an ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen next to his bed that night.  
  
Tommy is once again pulled from his thoughts, this time by Phil. “Tommy, mate, you there?” He shakes his head, trying to bring himself back into the present. He doesn’t keep face cam on when he isn’t streaming, him and Techno preferring to have them off. He doesn’t want to have his father accidentally bursting in in a drunken rage, it wouldn’t be the first time it had happened, and Tommy would prefer to keep things like that for when he isn’t on call with anyone.  
  
“Are you ok, Tommy? You’ve been a bit spacey today.” Wilbur comments, and Tommy mentally scolds himself for being noticeably off. “Nah Wil I’m fine, just a bit tired. Hard to focus when I have so many women wanting to talk to me.” He grins when he hears three separate groaning noises coming from his headphones, knowing he’s annoyed them enough to stop any further questions.  
  
“Are you sure they want to talk to you, or are they trying to get a restraining order.” Techno’s monotone voice pipes in, and he scoffs. “Shut up Technoblade, obviously you wouldn’t understand.”  
“Boys, boys, no arguing.” Phil jokes, and the three of them chime in with an “Ok dad!”. Tommy leans back in his chair, grinning hard.  
  
He’s about to say something more when he’s cut off by the sound of a car pulling into their driveway, and a cursory glance at the time leaves him grimacing. It’s late, almost 2 in the morning, which means his dad is getting home from the pub. He’s an angry drunk, and he’ll probably come up to Tommy’s room to release some of that anger.  
  
“Sorry boys, Fatherinnit has just arrived home, I’ve gotta bounce.” He announces in what he hopes sounds like a casual tone. “Why is your dad getting home so late, I thought he usually got home at like 5?” Phil asks, and he grimaces. Shit.  
  
“Ah, you know, office is keeping late or something, something about a big project. I don’t know, anyway, I’ve gotta go before he realises I’m awake, bye!” He promptly leaves the call, and releases a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. That wasn’t his most graceful exit, but he had bigger things to worry about. Like his dad stomping up the stairs and banging on his door. Fuck.  
  
He stands up and powers off his pc, opening the door before his dad has the chance to bang on it again. His dad scowls at him, towering over Tommy in a way that has him shrinking back slightly. Neither of them say anything as he’s shoved against the wall, his head smacking painfully into it. Neither of them say anything as he receives a knee to the rib. Neither of them say anything as he begins to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this is no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state that they are uncomfortable with this type of thing it will be deleted immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


	2. How To Never Stop Being Sad

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, and he gulps down a painful breath before remembering the state of his ribs. He blindly gropes around his nightstand for the bottle of ibuprofen he keeps there for mornings like these, and gulps down a few more than is probably recommended.  
  
He doesn’t have college today, so he hops on reddit for a while before pulling himself out of bed and listening intently for a second before he concludes his parents are at work. He clomps downstairs and carefully combs through the cabinet, making sure to only take the cereal he’s allowed to eat.  
  
He peruses his discord messages while he eats, wincing when he sees a few concerned messages from the group chat Techno, Wilbur, Phil, and him share about his abrupt leave the night before, growing slightly more worried when he’d failed to answer. He sends a reassuring reply about how some bullshit like his parents simply wanted him to go to bed earlier. His parents couldn’t give less of a shit about what he did, as long as he wasn’t being a disappointment.  
  
He passes the day slowly, on call with Tubbo for a bit while he streams before beginning to edit a video. He doesn’t bother with school assignments, he’s only doing poorly in one class, and nothing can really help that, he just doesn’t have a brain wired for math work, thank you very much.  
  
He hears when his mom gets home, pulling headphones off slightly sore ears, listening quietly to see if she’d start to come up the stairs, trying to gauge what kind of mood she was in today. She only came upstairs when she was angry, and days like those were truly the worst. While his dad was all knuckles and hard glares and headaches, his mother was who truly made him feel the worst.  
  
She somehow knew every insecurity he kept buried, and pulled them to the surface with sharp nails and a condescending grin. She would only ever stop belittling him when he began to cry, taunting him for not being “man” enough before exiting with an air of satisfaction.  
  
His mom hadn’t come up the stairs yet, so Tommy figured he was probably safe for today. He left his room and entered the bathroom, turning the shower on before staring intently at himself in the mirror. He had slight circles under his eyes, and he looked bony in a way that was reminiscent of a skeleton, or one of Tim Burton’s characters.  
  
He pulled away from the mirror, suddenly disgusted with himself. He stripped hurriedly, stepping under the scalding spray with a sigh. He slowly and methodically assessed the damage from his father’s visit the prior night, bruises blooming along the left side of his ribs, red indents on his shoulders from where his father’s fingernails had dug into him.  
  
Time passes sluggishly, and by the time he’s out of the shower his dad has arrived home. He towels off and pulls on sweatpants and a hoodie before hanging up his towel and heading downstairs. It’s almost dinnertime, and Tommy is starving, he hadn’t had anything to eat since his breakfast that morning.  
  
All thoughts of food freeze in their tracks however, when he sees the look on his parents faces. They're standing at the counter, murmuring to each other, but stop once he enters the room. His mother’s face is stormy, and his father’s jaw is set in a way that he only holds when he’s pissed. His dad straightens, and it all goes to shit from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this is no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state that they are uncomfortable with this type of thing it will be deleted immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


	3. Burning Pile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets kicked out.

In the end, he’s kicked out. He hadn’t expected it to go so downhill, but he’d gotten frustrated and accidentally snapped back and, well, they really didn’t appreciate that. It’d been about his grade in math. He should’ve expected it, in all honesty, he can’t believe how stupid he’d been, he should’ve known his grade had been dipping below what was acceptable.  
  
They’d yelled, a lot, and his dad may have thrown a few punches, he’d kind of spaced out after they’d begun to gang up on him. He knows for sure they've broken their unspoken rule of going for his face though, because his eye burns and his lip is definitely split.  
  
Bottom line, they’d given him five minutes to pack his shit and leave. He knows they're completely serious, knows it in the way his dad had snarled and his mom’s eyes had flashed. He can’t pack his pc, or pretty much any of his setup, he wouldn’t even have a place to stream from anyway, it’d just be dead weight.  
  
He isn’t thinking very clearly, just emptying his school backpack onto his bed and shoving clothes from his wardrobe into it. He’s desperately trying to remember everything he might need, stuffing a charger and earbuds in along with his clothes. It’s cold outside, bitterly so at night, so he slips on a jacket before throwing his stuffed backpack over shoulder. He surveys his room, putting the ibuprofen and the half empty water bottle in with the rest of his shit before finally, finally leaving. His parents don’t say a word to him as he makes his way to the door, and the sinking feeling in his stomach returns, stronger than before.  
  
He makes it to the end of his street before it fully sinks in that he, Tommyinnit, is officially fucking homeless. He has nowhere to go. He could ring Freddie or Eryn, but their parents might make him go to the police, and that’s the last thing he wants. Same goes for Tubbo, along with the fact that he lives hours away.  
  
He walks to the park near his house, hood pulled up to conceal his face. He has no idea what’ll happen if he gets recognized right now, and he really doesn’t want to find out. He sits on a bench in the middle of a park, pulling his gangly knees to his chest, breathing out slowly and watching as his breath fogs in front of his face, noting that it’s rapidly getting darker.  
  
He shakily pulls out his phone, and winces at the wall of notifications he’s met with. He hasn’t messaged them since a few hours ago, which isn’t unusual, but he’d also promised Wilbur he’d stream with him, for which he had definitely missed. Scrolling through the messages, Wil sounds vaguely pissed, and Tommy almost breaks down right there in the middle of this shitty fucking park.  
  
He’s not quite sure how to explain to Wilbur that he physically couldn’t attend his stream because he’d been getting his shit kicked in by his parents, oh, and also he’s fucking homeless now, so he won’t be able to attend any streams for the time being, sorry!  
  
Wilbur’s in a vc with Phil and Techno, and maybe Tommy just wanted some familiarity, some comfort, something, because he joins the call before he can really think it through.  
  
“Tommy, where the fuck were you today, man? We were supposed to fucking stream today, unless you forgot?” Fuck. He’s angry. Tomy squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingernails into the palm of his free hand. “Hi Wilbur.” He rasps out, throat sore from yelling.  
  
“Are you on your phone? Where are you, your audio is all fucked up.” He sounds slightly less angry and more so confused now, and Tommy isn’t sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.  
  
“I’m, um, I’m in a park.” He mutters out, curling into his jacket further. “What do you mean you’re in a park? It’s like 8pm, Tommy.” The other two are quiet, and Tommy lets out a shaky breath. He’s not sure what to say in response. “Tommy, what’s going on?” Wil sounds kind of frantic now, and his eyes blur with unshed tears. Is Wilbur actually concerned for him?  
  
“I’m, um. Wilbur, I don’t know what to do.” He confesses, choking on a sob. “Tommy where are you? Are you ok? What the fuck is is going on?” Wil sounds like he’s up and moving now, and he sniffles, his nose freezing. It’s so fucking cold.  
  
“My parents kicked me out,” He grounds out, staring at a tree a little ways away from him as he hears the three of them start talking at once. He continues over them, suddenly exhausted from keeping everything in. “I’m really sorry for not making it to your stream Wilbur, I’m really, really sorry, I genuinely didn’t mean to, it’s just my parents were so angry and-” He cuts himself off with a sob, “I don't know what to do, Wilbur.”  
  
There’s a sharp intake of breath from his phone, and then Wilbur speaks. “I’m going to come get you, ok? Just, just send me your location and I’ll come pick you up, ok? Just stay with me Toms, I’m gonna come get you.” Tommy nods, even though none of them can see him, and with shaky hands sends his location to the group chat.  
  
They’re all talking to each other, low and soft, and Tommy tunes them out, slumping further into the bench and picking at the scab forming on his lips. Techno’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, mostly because he’s never heard the man sound so… gentle with him before.  
  
“Tommy? You there?” He asks, and Tommy hums in acknowledgement. “I’m almost there, ok Toms?” Wilbur’s voice is slightly muffled, and Tommy simply hums again. His bruised eye hurts, and lip is bleeding again from his constant picking, and he's so, so tired. The cold is starting to seep through his clothing, and he absent mindedly fiddles with his sweatpant strings.  
  
More time passes, mostly spent by Tommy trying not to fall asleep and listening to Phil and Techno talk, probably trying to distract him or calm him down. To their credit, it is slightly working. He’s pulled back to the present by a car door slamming, and he looks up.  
  
Wilbur is walking towards him quickly, his face painted in worry. He hears him mumble to Phil and Techno that he’s found him, and Tommy hangs up, not wanting the noise to echo. Wilbur stops in front of him, crouching down to meet his eyes. Tommy looks away.  
  
“Oh, Tommy..” Wilbur murmurs examining his face. Tommy looks back over at him. His lips twist into a frown, and Tommy curls into himself even more. Great, he’s made Wilbur angry too. He’s made him come all the way from Brighton just to get him. “Who did this to you?” Tommy shrugs, he doesn’t want to talk, he’s so tired, he just wants to go home.  
  
He distantly hears Wilbur speaking into the phone, something about bruises and parents and he can feel his eyes starting to droop, and he leans forwards slightly, leaning on Wilbur for a second, before realizing what he’s doing and jolting away from the older man, apologizing profusely.  
  
“Shh, shh, it’s ok Toms, I’ve got you, ok? Let’s go to my car, ok? Come on, there we go.” Wilbur helps him up, and he can’t bring himself to care this time as he slumps against his friend, feeling as if he’s about to pass out at any second.  
  
Wilbur helps him into the passenger seat of his car and closes the door before going around the front and sliding into the driver's seat. The car starts, and Tommy thinks he could cry with relief when warm air begins to gently blow against his face. He leans his head against the window, the cool surface easing his throbbing head.  
  
Wilbur is still talking with Techno and Phil, and Tommy reaches out tentatively for the phone, giving Wilbur what is probably a very shitty rendition of puppy dog eyes. Wil scans his face for a second before reaching out and handing Tommy his phone. He cradles it to the side of his face, despite the other two being on speaker, and mumbles out a quiet, “Hello?”.  
  
“Tommy,” Phil breathes out, sounding relieved, “Are you ok?” Tommy sniffles a little, he’s clearly not, but he doesn’t want to say anything, he’s already inconvenienced them enough, god he’s such a burden he- “Tommy?” This time it’s Techno speaking, and Tommy realizes that 1) he hasn’t answered the question and 2) he’s practically hyperventilating into the phone’s microphone. He swallows, composing himself as best he can as Wilbur glances over at him, concerned.  
  
“Yeah, yeah I’m ok.” He croaks out, and pretends he doesn’t notice the clear skepticism written on Wil’s face. Techno hums in acknowledgement and Tommy realizes suddenly that only Phil's icon is displayed as in the call, despite both Techno and Phil talking, and the audio is slightly scratchy in a way that only discord mobile can provide. “Where,” He clears his throat and tries again, “Where are you guys?”  
  
He’s met with a pregnant pause, and then, from Phil, “I’m on my way to Wil’s house, I left when you sent your location to him.” Oh. Oh no.  
  
“Techno?” He prods, voice cracking embarrassingly. There’s a sigh, then, “Well it was meant to be a surprise, but I had a flight scheduled to the U.K this weekend, and then, well, you disappeared, so obviously I bumped up the flight to come get your sorry ass, and now I’m with Phil on our way to Wil’s house-”  
  
“I’m sorry,” He cuts in, nails digging into the palms of his free hands, desperately trying to ground himself, “I didn’t mean to make you come, to disrupt your night, I’m really sorry, you don’t have to come, you don't have to-” He cuts himself off, not quite sure how to convey that he knew he was an annoying handful, a burden, a disappointment, and he wouldn’t fault them for dropping him at the next stoplight and never speaking to him again.  
  
“What? Tommy no, we’re coming because we care about you, you didn't make us do anything.” Phil sounded genuinely confused, and Tommy wasn’t quite sure how to respond, wasn’t quite sure what to do with this new information, so he simply hands the phone back to Wilbur and curls into the car door, seat belt digging into his sides, almost painfully.  
  
He hears Wilbur confirm that he has the phone again, and he tunes them back out in favor of watching the quickly passing scenery. He recognizes a few places from his short time in Brighton, the coffee shop where they had breakfast, the arcade where he’d gotten his famous vlog gun. When they pass Wilbur’s office building, something terrifying dawns on him, and he sits up abruptly, turning to the older man with wide eyes and a still-bloody trembling bottom lip.  
  
“Wil, how am I gonna stream? I don’t- I couldn’t bring my streaming stuff, I didn’t have time to pack it and they don’t want me going back,” He takes in a sharp, shuddering breath, Wilbur glancing at him quickly and slowing the car as they pull down a familiar street, “Wilbur, my parents don’t want me anymore.” Salty tears are streaming down his face, burning his cuts, and everything is dawning on him at once, he doesn’t notice the car stopping, or Wilbur hanging up the phone, or him unbuckling his seat belt and turning to him.  
  
He only notices when Wilbur is reaching out to him, probably to wipe away his tears, but all Tommy’s mind screams is danger, danger, and he flinches, hard, scrabbling away. Wilbur immediately retracts his hand, eyes wide with an emotion he can’t quite identify in them.  
  
“Shit, Toms, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you wanna go inside? I have food, and it’s warmer in there than in the car, ok?” He nods, slowly, and waits for Wil to step out before opening the door and untangling himself from the seat belt.  
  
Unfolding his long legs from his chest sends pangs of aching pain all throughout his body, and he winces before grabbing his bag from the floor and hoisting it over his shoulder and then closing the door, the loud sound startling him more than it should have.  
  
He notices that Phil’s car is already in the driveway, and realizes with a sinking feeling he’s going to be meeting Techno, a man he practically idolized for years of his childhood, someone who’s pretty much his older brother at this point, with a split lip and teary eyes.  
  
He grips at Wilbur’s coat sleeve, not caring that it makes him feel like a child hiding behind their mother, fuck it all, he just wants comfort right now, and judging by the way Wilbur moves to loop his arm carefully around his shoulders, he doesn’t mind too much. He switches his grip from the older’s coat sleeve to where the breast pocket would be on the jacket, if it had one.  
  
He licks his lips nervously, crowding himself closer into Wilbur’s space as he opens the door, maneuvering them both through the open door and into the warm, warm foyer. He hears a noise from the top of the steps, and looks up to see Techno and Phil standing there, staring at him, and neither of them looked happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this is no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state that they are uncomfortable with this type of thing it will be deleted immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


	4. Brave As a Noun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk.

He tightens his grip on Wilbur’s coat, blinks away bitter tears, and announces with as much confidence as his tired, beat up body can muster, “You guys must be real losers if the only plans for a Tuesday night you lot have is taking care of some dumbass 16 year old.”  
  
Techno chokes out a laugh, and Phil quickly shoots him a look that makes him shut up, muttering an apology. Phil turns to him, and Tommy realizes Wil has led him up the short flight of steps, and they’re now stood only a foot or so away from each other.  
  
“Hi Philza Minecraft.” Tommy chokes out, giving the older man a watery smile. Phil’s gaze softens slightly, and for a second he thinks he’s in the clear, but before he can completely relax, Phil speaks up.  
  
“Let’s go to the couch, and we can clean you up. And talk.” He makes direct eye contact with Tommy on that last sentence, and he shrinks away slightly at the fire burning in his eyes.  
  
Right, he’d almost forgotten. Of course they’d want the full story, he’d brought them through all this trouble.  
  
He follows them into the living room, and Wilbur sits him on the couch, pulling up a chair from his kitchen so he can sit across from him and further examine his face.  
  
“Are these the only injuries you have?” Techno asks, and he looks at the ground, lifting one shoulder in a wordless shrug.  
  
“Tommy,” Phil starts, and his tone is frustrated, Tommy notes, “What happened?” He bites his lip, and Wil quietly whispers for him to stop, he’ll further open his split lip, so he does, focusing all his attention on the patterned rug below his feet as he begins to speak.  
  
“I got in a fight with my parents. It was dumb, it was my fault in the first place-” He’s cut off by Techno, “The bruises were your fault too?” His tone is sarcastic, but Tommy nods wholeheartedly.  
  
“Yes, yes, they’re my fault, if I had tried harder, if I had done better, they wouldn’t have had to hit me.” He distantly thinks that might’ve been the wrong thing to say, even though he still believes it to be true, because the three men in the room are sporting looks of varying degrees of horror, and Techno looks a little pale.  
  
“Do you really believe that?” Wilbur whispers, and Tommy blinks, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?” He questions sincerely, and Wilbur’s face further pales.  
  
“I had a bad grade in math,” Tommy says into empty air, not understanding why they weren’t getting it, “If you aren’t a good kid you get punished.”  
  
“Yes, but not with a fucking beating, jesus christ Toms.” Wilbur spits out, hands fisting his curls, clearly frustrated.  
  
He shrinks back, abashed. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, and Techno is by his side in an instant, shushing him and rubbing his back, Phil coming to sit on his left side.  
  
“No, no Toms, this isn’t your fault, we aren’t angry at you, we’re upset that this happened, ok? We aren’t upset at you, never at you.” Phil whispers, and Wilbur rubs circles into his hand with his thumb, and Tommy has never felt so safe before, so comforted.  
  
“I’m not stupid,” He starts, “I know parents aren’t supposed to hit their kids.” He wipes blindy at his watering eyes with his free hand, forcing himself to breathe and continue.  
  
“I just- I’m different, you know? I’m loud, and annoying, and-” Techno opens his mouth to interrupt but Tommy shoots him a pleading look and he quiets, looking conflicted.  
  
“And they weren’t always like this. They used to love me, they still do sometimes, I swear, as long as I’m good. I’ve just been difficult lately, and they’ve been stressed, and my dad has been going to the pub and all my mom does is yell and,” He gulps in a sob, breath shuddering as he breathes out.  
  
“How didn’t we notice? How didn’t I realize? I mean, I’ve met your dad, and I didn’t even- I’m sorry, Tommy.” Wilbur looks so upset, so ashamed, that Tommy reaches out slightly and wipes away the tear from his face, giving him a reassuring smile when his eyes fly up to meet his.  
  
“It’s ok, it isn’t your fault. My parents learned how to leave marks where they wouldn’t be visible, and I learned how to hide the pain. They only went for my face tonight because I spoke back, and my dad was already drunk, even though it was only 3, and my mom had been looking for a reason to yell all week, and-” He’s not sure how to finish the sentence, how to convey to them that there’s no way they could’ve known, that he doesn’t blame them. “They were just sick of me, innit?”  
  
He doesn’t really feel like talking anymore, so he shuts his eyes as Wilbur starts fussing, dabbing at his skin with some antiseptic that leaves a dull stinging pain for a few seconds after applied.  
  
They ask him more questions, some that he can’t answer and some that he just won’t. They’re slightly frustrated by his lack of cooperation, he can tell, but they don’t say anything about it, just whisper reassurances and Phil is even petting his hair at one point, and he can’t help it, he completely melts into the touch, eyes closing and mouth letting out a noise halfway between a hum and a purr.  
  
It’s been so long since touch has been something positive for him, and he feels warm, even with his head aching and his bones sore, he feels good. Truly good, not like the faux warmth he provided himself with layers of blankets at night.  
  
He falls asleep like that, leaning halfway on Phil and halfway on the couch backing. He vaguely registers Wilbur pulling off his shoes, and one of them, he’s not sure who, but it can’t be Phil because he’s currently halfway on top of the poor man, lifts his legs and stretches them across the now empty spot where Techno used to be.  
  
He absent-mindedly sinks down further, until only his head is in Phil’s lap, and he notes that Wilbur is still sitting a little ways away from him, half turned to where Techno must be now sitting.  
  
He feels slightly bad for taking the man’s seat, but he supposes it doesn’t matter too much, he’s pretty much fully asleep at this point, so Tommy doesn’t even register it when he reaches out and grabs at Wilbur.  
  
He grabs something solid, and warm, and ah, it must be his hand, because it curls into his, and he finally lets himself succumb to sleep.  
  
  
He awakens to hushed talking, and he lets out a pained groan as he shifts, forgetting his fucked up ribs. The talking immediately stops, and he hears footsteps approaching the coach. He opens bleary eyes to see Techno on the coach across from him, and Wilbur approaching with a steaming mug, Phil slightly behind him.  
  
“Do you like hot chocolate?” He asks gently, and surrenders the mug to open hands when Tommy nods. He’s still tired, his head aches, and he probably caught a cold or some shit from being outside in the cold, because his nose won’t stop running, no matter how many times he swipes at it with a sleeve covered hand.  
  
“Wilby-” He starts, and blinks slowly as Wilbur seems to startle at his words, mouth curling into a gentle smile as he turns back to the boy, giving him a questioning look. “Can you sit with me?”  
  
The older is by his side immediately, furling his long ass legs underneath him and settling on his left. He looks to Techno next, giving pleading eyes and making grabby hands until Techno gives in, making himself comfortable on his left. Phil watches with amusement, and sighs dramatically when Tommy finally sets his sights on him, but comes and sits on Techno’s free side, bunching them all together.  
  
Tommy latches on Techno, looping his arm through his and sipping at his hot chocolate with his free hand.  
  
“My head hurts,” He announces, and maybe that was the wrong thing to say because suddenly the other three look very concerned. “I think ‘m sick.” He mutters in explanation, and wipes at his still running nose with his sleeve. Wilbur grabs a tissue box from the floor and hands it to him wordlessly.  
  
“Tommy,” Phil begins softly, “What do you want to do now?” It’s a simple question, but Tommy feels tears start to well up because fuck, what is he going to do?  
  
“I’m homeless,” He says, to no one in particular, staring at the still steaming hot chocolate in his mug. “My parents don’t want me back, definitely not anytime soon.”  
  
“You can stay with one of us, you know that right? We’re always here for you Toms.” Wilbur murmurs, rubbing his back comfortingly.  
  
“Don’t wanna intrude,” He explains, and winces when he turns his head and bright sunlight assaults his eyes. “My head really hurts.” He repeats.  
  
“Do you want medicine?” Phil asks, half out of his seat. Tommy shakes his head and leans down to snag his bag from it’s spot at his feet, placing the half full mug on the coffee table in front of him as he does so.  
  
“Brought some with me.” He confirms, digging around before pulling out the bottle of ibuprofen. Wilbur looks confused, so he elaborates, “It helps make my head hurt less after I hit it.” Techno scrunches his eyebrows together. “Hit it against what?”  
  
“My dad’s fist,” Tommy says cheerfully, popping three in his mouth and reaching for his hot chocolate. He takes a big swig and wipes his mouth after setting it back down. “Sorry, bad joke.” He apologizes when he sees how upset the others look.  
  
“You know we love you right?” Wilbur starts, and Tommy shifts, unused to blatant affection. “We love you, and we’re really sorry this has been happening without us being there for you.”  
  
“You were there, though.” Tommy mutters, and continues when Phil shoots him a confused look. “You guys were always the ones to cheer me up after my dad got mad, and you guys were always the ones to help distract me from the fighting, whether you knew it or not. You guys are probably one of the main reasons I didn’t off myself or some shit.” He sniffles again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his alleged cold or because he was getting emotional.  
  
“Tommy, don’t say that.” Wilbur says, sounding choked up. “Please,” Techno adds, and Tommy is startled by the amount of emotion in his eyes when he meets them.  
  
“I’m never letting them hurt you again,” Phil says angrily, “None of us are, we promise.” Techno adds, and Tommy gives a watery laugh.  
  
“Sorry, I’m just- I’m just imagining you guys beating the shit out of my parents. They laugh, but Techno sounds kind of serious when he says, “Me too.”  
  
They’re silent for a little bit, before Tommy speaks up. “Could I really? Stay with one of you I mean.”  
  
Wilbur and Phil confirm immediately, and Techno says, “I’m sure if you really wanted to stay with me we could figure something out, since I live in America and what not.” It truly sinks in then, that Techno is here, in front of him, and he can’t stop himself from burrowing under the man’s arm, sniffling pathetically.  
  
“Do you really have to go?” He whispers, voice cracking. Techno shushes him, hand running through his hair gently. “Not anytime soon, Tommy, not anytime soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this is no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state that they are uncomfortable with this type of thing it will be deleted immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


	5. Little Dark Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy gets used to the feeling of being cared for.

They don’t bring up his housing situation for the rest of the day, and Tommy pretends he doesn’t notice how they glance at him worriedly when they think he isn’t paying attention. He’s not sure whether to feel appreciated or guilty.  
  
When night falls, instead of sleeping on the coach, Wilbur leads him to the guest room, assuring him it’d be a lot more comfortable, and waves away his insistence that either Techno or Phil can take it. A part of him is grateful to have a bed to sleep in where he won’t have to worry about being awakened by pounding on the door and the promise of bruises and dried blood.  
  
“Do you need a night light?” Wilbur asks, so sincerely that Tommy can’t help laughing. He ignores the child inside him begging him to say yes, to accept all the small comforts he can get. Big men don’t need night lights.  
  
He says as much to Wil, who raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue the point, simply laying down a few folded blankets at the end of the bed. “In case you get cold,” He explains.  
  
“If you need anything, I’ll be down the hall and Tech and Phil will be downstairs, ok? Seriously Tommy, come to us if you need anything.” He scoffs a bit, trying to shrug off the unusual, almost uncomfortable feeling of being cared for.  
  
“I’m a big man, Wilbur, don’t worry. You can go to sleep now, I know you’ve been tired, don’t think I didn’t notice how you almost fell asleep at dinner.” Tommy teases, plugging his phone into the charger by the nightstand.  
  
“Brat,” Wilbur says fondly before making his way to the door, pausing in the doorway and turning back. “Good night Toms.” He says simply, and then he’s gone, and Tommy is left alone with his thoughts.  
  
He settles into the foreign bed, curling naturally into a fetal position, cradling his phone in his hands. He’s been trying to stay off his phone, as it makes him a bit obsessive, especially as it reminds him of his streaming predicament. Wilbur had told him he could stream from his house, but Tommy doesn’t want his viewers to clock something is wrong, not more than they already have.  
  
He’d tweeted earlier this morning, some bullshit reply to one of Tubbo’s tweets, a simple reassurance to his fans that he was still around.  
  
Speaking of Tubbo, he had called the boy earlier that day and told him, well, everything he could without inducing a full blown breakdown. Tubbo had been so worried, and it had thrown Tommy off a bit if he was being honest. He’s still getting used to the fact that people genuinely like and care for him.  
  
The call had left him a bit emotionally burnt out, and he’d spent the rest of the day hovering around whoever was closest and conveniently pretending he wasn’t. Like a cat, he reckoned, laughing a bit to himself at the pitiful comparison.  
  
He clicked around reddit for a bit, upvoting a post here and there, before turning off and setting down his phone. It was almost 12:30, a little bit late for him, Techno poking a bit of fun at him for it. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them he’s used to going to bed so early so he can escape the world, and consequently, his parents, for a short time.  
  
He settles deeper into the covers, pulling them around himself in what almost seemed like a nest. He closed his eyes, and drifted into sleep.  
  
He woke up gasping. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, nightmares had always been a bit of a problem for him, but they became even more nagging in the past years, starting to revolve strictly around his parents.  
  
This one was no different, his parents towering over him and hurling insults that burned icily against his skin, prickling needles of insecurity. No matter how often and similar his nightmares were, he always awoke shaken and feeling small. He regretted not asking for a night light earlier, the darkness seemed to press in on him from all sides, overwhelming him.  
  
A quick shaky glance at his phone told him it was almost 6am, and along with his rattling nerves he was also presented with a hoarse and dry throat. He’d have to get up and grab water.  
  
Tommy chanced a look at the doorway to his left. Back at his parent’s house, leaving his room past midnight was a sure way to get his ass kicked. Logically, he knew his friends would never hurt him, but conditioned instinct and old habits die hard.  
  
No, he told himself, he wasn’t going to act like a pussy over a glass of water. It was simple, all Tommy had to do was get up, grab a glass, and fill it in the kitchen sink.  
  
He carefully shifted out of bed, and dug around in his bag for a second for a pair of socks. They helped muffle his footfalls and he had found them useful for sneaking around in the past, when he’d absolutely needed to.  
  
He shuffled to the door and peered out, being greeted with a dark and silent house. He shuddered slightly, it was almost creepy with the way the moonlight filtered through the windows, the sun having yet to make its debut. He crept down the hall and maneuvered himself down the stairway as quietly as possible.  
  
From there, he made his way to the kitchen, and a quick glance over the countertops gave him a view of the living room, where Techno and Phil were sprawled across the couches, seemingly fast asleep.  
  
He slowly extracted a glass from one of the cupboards, and he turned the sink handle ever so slightly, until a slight trickle began. He slipped his glass under the stream, tilting it so the water would make less noise.  
  
He was so concentrated on being quiet and filling his glass that he didn’t notice a presence near him until a gruff, “What are you doing?” startled him out of his thoughts.  
  
He flinched, spinning around and pressing his back into the counter, dropping his cup in the process. It shattered, shards of glass and water flying everywhere, a loud sound resonating throughout the house.  
  
Techno stood a few feet from him, looking much more awake than before, blinking in surprise. He was even more shocked when Tommy immediately began to cry, dropping to the floor and gathering the glass into his hands, frantically apologizing.  
  
The noise had woken up Phil and Wilbur, who were light sleepers in the first place, and the two of them appeared at the edge of the kitchen.  
  
Tommy hiccuped, trying to gather more broken glass into his hands, tears sliding down his face as some shards cut into his skin.  
  
“Tommy, stop, stop, you’re hurting yourself, Tommy-” A hand grabbed his wrist and he flinched, dropping the glass in favor of covering his face with his arms, bloody hands raised in surrender.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise, I’m so sorry for waking you up and breaking your glass-” Wilbur reaches for him and he lets out a breathless wail.  
  
“And I’m sorry for fucking up your life and making you come get me and being annoying all the time and-”  
  
“Tommy,” Techno says loudly, and he freezes immediately, tensing completely. “We aren’t mad.” His head snaps up, and he meets Wilbur’s eyes from where he’s crouching a foot or two away from him, eyes sad and lips turned down.  
  
“This wasn’t your fault Toms, it was an accident, none of us are upset at you darling.” The pet name seems to surprise even Wilbur, but Tommy keens at it, he’s never been called something so lovingly.  
  
“Tommy can we come closer?” Phil asks tentatively, and he bites his lip and gives a slight nod. Wilbur carefully brushes the glass surrounding Tommy into a small pile, and the three of them huddle close to him.  
  
His hands are shaking, and the pain is starting to sink in, and he stares at his hands in mute horror. Why did he do that?  
  
His friends seem to have the same question, but no one says anything about it as Techno gently, so gently, grasps his wrists and removes the few glass shards in them, Wilbur petting his hair while Phil mumbles soft reassurance.  
  
Despite the pain in his hands, he feels safe, safer than he’s probably ever felt when hurt. They’re being so gentle with him, something he’s obviously not used to, and he’s surprised when he buries his face in Wilbur’s chest and isn’t shoved away.  
  
Techno stands, quietly asking Wilbur where he keeps his first aid kit, before disappearing down the hall. Tommy distantly notices that muted light has begun filtering through the windows, and he’s reminded of how early it is.  
  
A second later, Techno returns, his hands full with what appears to be a never opened first aid kit, and he sits in front of Tommy, pulling things out until he finds gauze and some sort of cream, and he gently grabs the younger’s wrist, pulling it outwards towards him.  
  
He applies the cream gently, so gently, and Phil rubs his back as he bites his lip to keep from whimpering in pain. Techno switches hands, and repeats the process before starting on the bandages.  
  
It shocks Tommy just how gentle he’s being handled, in a way that makes him feel like he’s special, like he means something.  
  
Techno finishes bandaging his hands, rubbing a comforting circle into his wrist before pulling away and giving him a once over.  
  
“I’m sorry for startling you,” Techno murmurs, and Tommy pulls from Wilbur and blinks, confused. “What?” He asks curiously.  
  
“I startled you, and that’s why you dropped your glass. I’m sorry.” To be completely honest, Tommy barely remembers what happened, his emotions running at a high and his nerves buzzing.  
  
“I just- I thought you were someone else.” He mutters, ducking his head in shame. “They can’t hurt you anymore,” Phil promises, “You’ll never have to see them again, I swear we’ll protect you, ok?”  
  
Tommy sniffled, nodding as he wiped his nose with his hoodie sleeve, his palms still stinging under carefully applied bandages. “Why were you up in the first place, Toms? Couldn’t sleep?” Wilbur pries gently, fingers still carding through his hair.  
  
“Bad dream.” He replies, not missing the look the three share over his head. He doesn’t mind as much as he normally would, he knows they’re only worried because they care, as foreign as the concept still is to him.  
  
“Do you wanna sleep on the couch tonight? We can stay with you so we’ll be there if you need us, ok?” He blinks, tiredness settling over him like a blanket, and nods hesitantly.  
  
“I- I really am sorry. For dropping the glass, and freaking out, and just- I don’t know, being so jumpy in the first place. I’m just used to… Well I’m just used to getting my ass kicked, innit?” Phil sighs shakily into his hair, and Techno’s lips stretch into a thin line.  
  
“God if I ever see your parents in person…” Techno starts, and Wilbur swats at him, but Tommy chokes out a laugh, gasping in a breath as his still healing ribs throbbed.  
  
“Oh big man they’d be terrified of you. You know, they always hated you guys. My dad got so pissed this one time, he was watching my stream and we were joking about being a family and whatnot and oh my god, you should have seen it, he called me into his office and everything, he was so angry, something about me not being grateful enough for him or some shit. I don’t know, I guess he saw that I liked you guys better and was afraid they’d lose their main source of income.”  
  
“They fucking took your money? Oh mate I’m fucking killing your family, come on Techno, let’s go-” Phil mimed getting up, laughing as Tommy dragged him back down, scowling at them before letting out a muffled laugh.  
  
“Nah don’t- don’t kill my family, ‘cause that’s- My family is you guys, you know?” He’s not good with emotions really, the words awkward in his mouth, but he spits them out anyway, because he needs his friends, no, his family, his real family, to know how much they mean to him.  
  
“Oh Tommy, you’re our family too. Fuck biological shit, you’ll always be my little brother, and Techno will be the oldest brother-” “I’m literally younger than you-” “And Philza Minecraft is our dad!” Wilbur finishes brilliantly, grinning at Tommy. He can’t help but grin back.  
  
“Now hang on, I know it’s part of the lore but why do I have to be the dad, I’m not that old.” Phil cuts in, whining dramatically, standing and pulling Tommy, and consequently the rest of the boys, up with him.  
  
“Phil you’re practically ancient, you’re like- double my age, you’re practically on your deathbed. Oh my god, you better write me into your will, dickhead.” Tommy snickers, Phil scrunching his nose at him.  
  
“Dad,” Techno drawls out, shooting Tommy a smirking look, “Who’s the favorite?” Phil groans, and Wilbur jumps in, and then they’re all arguing for their spot as Phil’s favorite, and Phil looks like he vaguely regrets pseudo adopting three of the most chaotic people he’s ever met, and Tommy can’t stop grinning.  
  
They’re bundled on the couch a little later, Tommy with his head on Techno’s lap, his gangly legs spread across Wil’s lap, and Phil puttering around the kitchen as he disposes of the rest of the glass and sets about making some breakfast.  
  
It’s not completely bright out yet, the sky filled with fluffy clouds passing by, but if Tommy had to wager a guess he’d say it was about 7:00.  
  
He’s still a little tired, but Wilbur had gone and gotten his phone for him, and he’s scrolling through twitter as best he can with bandaged hands.  
  
“Hey Wilby,” He murmurs, and flushes slightly when Wilbur gives him a fond smile at the nickname, but continues on regardless, “How am I going to stream? Like should I wait? I could probably go get my stuff from my parent’s house if I had to but-”  
  
“You won’t ever have to go back to that house if you don’t want to, you know that right?” Techno interrupts, one hand scratching at his curls absentmindedly as he looks through his phone with the other.  
  
“No I know, I trust you guys and everything, but they’re not… Well they’re not usually home much anyway, and I still have a key, and maybe we could go and get my setup? It’d be really nice to see my dogs again too, I hope they’re doing alright.” Tommy trails off, staring at the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to meet Wilbur’s eyes.  
  
“I suppose if you’re absolutely sure, the three of us would go with you of course, and you can grab everything you need.” Wil muses, and Phil hums in agreement from the kitchen, sliding scrambled eggs and waffles onto four different plates.  
  
“If that’s what you want mate, we can work it out. Do you think they'd have gotten rid of any of your things?” Phil asks as he brings the plates over to the coffee table, settling himself into an armchair and sipping at what is probably a cup of coffee.  
  
“Oh I hadn’t thought about that,” Tommy mutters, chewing at his lip. “They probably haven’t, they never liked going into my room much, and if anyone were to, it’d be my mom, but I think she’d be too busy with work and shit to do anything so soon.”  
  
They talk about it more over breakfast, and they decide it’d be best to do it that day, as they don’t want to risk Tommy’s stuff being thrown away and both his parents were supposed to work today.  
  
“I’ve memorized their schedules so I would know when I could be loud and go downstairs to eat and shit.” He explained, and Wilbur looked slightly sick when they questioned further and he'd explained he’d only been allowed to eat when they either remembered to feed him or he snuck out of his room and ate the food they decided they didn’t care about enough to keep from him.  
  
They decided to leave around 12, when he’s absolutely sure both his parents should be working, and he can’t help the feeling of his stomach crawling with barely concealed anxiety as the minutes tick by. The others can tell he’s antsy, he can tell, but none of the pry and he’s grateful for it.  
  
As soon as the clock hits 12:00, Tommy springs up from his spot and starts pulling on his tattered converse, bouncing on his toes as he waits for the rest of his friends, his family, to put their shoes on.  
  
Techno thrusts a coat at him, and at his confused look he sighs, “Tommy, it’s cold outside, wear my jacket ok?” Tommy gives him a crooked grin, refraining from teasing Techno about his awkward shows of affection. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that the gesture makes a warm feeling spread throughout his body, and he tugs on the coat happily.  
  
The four of them stumble out into the cold air, and Phil and Techno get the driver and passenger seat, a fact that makes Tommy pout childishly at them.  
  
Wilbur sits in the backseat with them, and Wilbur steals the aux cord, and Tommy almost doesn’t realize the song playing until the familiar notes trickle out.  
  
“It’s my song!” He cries out, the animal crossing theme cheerily playing out. Wilbur grins at him, and even though Techno complains loudly the two of them join Tommy in singing the tune, much to Phil’s mock annoyance.  
  
The ride isn’t as long as Tommy secretly hoped it would be, and before he knows it they’re pulling up to his house, well, his former house.  
  
No one is home, he notes with barely concealed relief. Phil parks and promises to stay in the car in case anyone comes home, and Techno and Wilbur follow him up to the door.  
  
He fishes out the key from his jean pocket, and opens the door to let them inside. He heads up the stairs, a trash bag in hand for anything he might want to take now that he had the space to keep it.  
  
He opens his door, still closed from the night he was kicked out, he notices, and Techno and Wilbur filter in, Techno immediately flopping into his chair, spinning around.  
  
He huffs, and methodically begins to stuff things into the bag. He shoves most of his clothes in while Wilbur deals with his setup stuff, something that he hadn’t trusted himself to do.  
  
It isn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. He gets everything packed up without issue, and he gets to introduce Betty and Walter to his friends, who immediately begin to clown on Walter for wearing a shirt.  
  
“Don’t be mean to him! He looks good! Oh, you lot are dickheads, Walter don’t listen you’re incredibly handsome,” He reassures the dog, who looks as if he’s just happy to be getting attention.  
  
He kisses both his dogs on the head gently before hefting his bag over his shoulder and motioning to the door. Wilbur opens his mouth, and before he can say anything Tommy cuts him off.   
  
“No, you cannot break anything or do anything stupid.” Wilbur closes his mouth, and Techno cackles at him. “Owned by a child!” He crows, and Wilbur sticks his tongue out at him.  
  
Tommy rolls his eyes, and leads them back outside. Phil is still sitting in the car dutifully, and he waves to them. Tommy turns and relocks the door before turning and following his family down the steps.  
  
Before he gets into the car, he turns and surveys his house. It was never truly a home, he muses to himself, it was only a place he resided in. He smiles sadly and gets in the car. He has a new family now, one that cares about him infinitely more than his old one ever would.


	6. Boys Will Be Bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dissociation and panic attacks this chapter

The next few days pass uneventfully. Tommy feels a bit guilty, he knows he’s the reason Phil is staying longer than he had planned to. When he tells the older man that, though, his worries are waved away almost immediately, and Phil reassures him that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than with “his boys”, as he called them.  
  
They were careful with him. Not overly so, almost in a way that Tommy wouldn’t have noticed if not for the fact that he was used to reading people, almost unconsciously looking for signs of anger. Tommy can’t bring himself to be angry with them, he knows they mean well.  
  
He still doesn’t know quite where he stands in terms of his living situation. He knows that he could stay with any of the three, but it’s far more complicated than he’d originally thought. Phil had a wife, Techno lived in an entirely different country, and Wilbur- Well, he wasn’t sure why he was so wary of the idea of living with Wilbur, it might’ve been due to his deep-rooted fear of being abandoned, he didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he could be discarded again.  
  
Those have been the thoughts in the forefront of his mind the past few days, and because of that Tommy had been a bit more subdued than normal, which he knows his frie- family had caught onto. Whenever he catches them glancing at him, he gives them a small smile, and it’s almost amusing how quickly they relax.  
  
They had slightly bigger problems to worry about anyway. None of them had streamed since the night Tommy got kicked out, and their fans were starting to worry. Techno offered to stream from Wilbur’s pc, as he was the only one who wouldn’t need a facecam, but that was quickly shot down after they realized that Wilbur’s setup was almost entirely different from Techno’s, and they all knew even the slightest of changes threw him off completely, so after a very poor attempt at a test run, they gave up on the idea.  
  
Tommy had, with the help of the others, unpacked his streaming equipment the day he’d brought it home, but he hadn't touched any of his streaming hardware since. He’d checked discord, wincing when he saw the amount of concerned messages he’d gotten from other Dream smp members, and Tommy had responded with minimal detail, not quite ready to reveal anything of his situation, even to his closer friends.  
  
The only people, he mused to himself as he laid sprawled out on his bed, who knew what was going on were the people in this house, Tubbo, and his parents. He rubbed his eyes warily, he tried not to think about them, but it was kind of inevitable. They had instilled within him instincts and habits that he would probably never fully get rid of, like the way yelling made his eyes water and how he found himself hoarding food, fearful that it’d get taken away from him.  
  
He knew Wil would never do that to him, but a small voice in his head whispered, “just to be safe”, and who was he to ignore it? And so he had a small pile of snacked squirreled away under his bed. Sue him.  
  
He sat up, pulling himself from his thoughts and stretching languidly. It was midday, and he was in his lunch period for college. He’s not quite sure how Phil had done it, but the man had apparently called his college and convinced them to let him take their online courses instead of his usual nine hour day.  
  
He didn’t mind too much, perfectly content to stay inside all day, but still being dragged out by whoever had been assigned “child duty” as he liked to refer to it in his mind. He checks his phone, making sure he has ample amount of time before his next class to actually go and eat, as he’d spent the first ten or so minutes of break laying around.  
  
He slides out of bed, peeking his head out the door and being met with the sounds of his family bumbling around. If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the quiet strum of Wilbur’s guitar, the sound of the sink running as Phil does the leftover dishes from breakfast, and the sarcastic hum of Techno’s voice,  
  
Tommy feels a grin creep onto his face, and he allows it to stay as he rests in his doorway for a moment, taking in the feeling of the house, no, the home, he was staying in.  
  
After another beat or two, he shakes himself off and saunters down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sure enough, Phil is elbows deep in sudsy water, Techno sitting at the table across from him with his glasses on and his nose in some pretentious novel that he’d never bother to learn the name of, and Wilbur sprawled across the living room floor, picking absentmindedly at his guitar strings.  
  
“Hello,” he calls, and watches three different faces turn towards him, beaming at their returned greetings. “How has school been?” Techno calls out as Tommy slides into the seat across from him.  
  
“It’s alright, I swear I’ll fight my maths teacher one of these days,” He rambles on about his day thus far, Phil chiming in with reminders of upcoming assignments and Techno’s teasings, Wilbur speaking up to either ask their thoughts on a lyric or to help Techno further bully him.  
  
He laughs loudly at them, and gives Phil a warm smile when the man brings over bowls of soup. He eats quickly, despite burning his tongue and immediately getting laughed at for it, before dumping his bowl in the sink and waving at them before hurrying back upstairs to finish off his classes for the day, smiling like an idiot.  
  
He’s done a few hours later, and utterly exhausted. He’d stayed in his room for an extra hour or so to finish an essay he had due, and then hovered his mouse over the go live button for longer than he cared to admit, before shutting off his pc completely and going to take a shower.  
  
It’s the first time he’s showered in Wilbur’s house, and he knows it’s gross, but he’s had other things on his mind, ok? He sends Wilbur a quick text, he doesn’t quite feel like talking to another person right now, despite how good his day had gone.  
  
Tommy grabs a clean towel from the linen closet, ducking back into his room to grab a pair of old sweatpants and one of Wilbur’s hoodies before beginning his things into the guest bathroom and setting them on the floor.  
  
He feels drained now, bones heavy and head aching. As much as he hates to admit it, he misses his old house. As bad as it was, it had a sense of familiarity and normalcy that he hadn’t yet achieved here.  
  
He stares into the mirror as he waits for the water to warm up. He can’t bring himself to bat away the dark thoughts that creep in. By all accounts, they should be gone, he was safe now, he was out of the nightmare of a house he’d lived in before, but he still couldn’t help but sink into his darker thoughts.  
  
He swallows, eyes trailing the way his Adam's apple moves, lost in thought. Yes, it was good here, but how much longer until everything crumbled? Nothing was this good for this long, it was too good to be true. Wilbur would get tired of him, or maybe Techno, or maybe Phil, and he’d be booted back to his parents, who of course wouldn’t take him back, of course they wouldn’t, he had been a brat, a bad child, not worth the time of anyone’s day,  
  
He can feel his breathing strat to pick up, but instead of trying to calm himself he sinks deeper into the panic, settling into its almost comforting grasp. The anxiety was familiar, it was something that had stayed with him throughout his entire life, getting worse throughout the years, but at least it would never abandon him.  
  
What a pathetic thought, he scoffs at the mirror, turning and stripping off his clothes before stepping under the almost scalding spray of water. The warmth is comforting, and he relaxes, if by only a millimeter. His body feels heavy, not quite his own, and he stares at his hands for a few beats longer than feels right.  
  
His legs ache, and he slides down until he’s sitting, knees pulled up to his chest, water raining down and blurring his vision. He sits there until a little bit of warmth has returned to his being, and he heaves himself up, shutting off the water.  
  
He steps out and wraps a towel around himself, humming tiredly. Everything feels kind of hazy, and he’s not quite present in the moment, head foggy.  
  
He dresses slowly, burrowing into the oversized clothing, pulling up the hood of Wil’s sweatshirt, pulling the collar of it to his face and breathing in deeply, trying to ground himself. It works, albeit not a lot, but he’ll take what he can get. What he really wants right now is a hug, but Tommy isn’t sure if he’s allowed to ask for one.  
  
He thuds down the stairs slowly, and shuffles over to the couch, curling up on it and decidedly ignoring any stares he gets from his family as he does so. He hugs himself, the best he can do for himself right now, his eyes closed and breathing shallow. He feels rather than hears someone sits beside him, the couch dipping under their weight.  
  
His eyes still screwed shut, he reaches out towards them, tentatively grabbing at what he presumes to be the person’s shirt. He hears a soft “Oh, Toms,” And he registers faintly that it’s Phil beside him, and he tries not to cry as he fists his hands into the man’s shirt tighter, trying to pull Phil closer, slightly desperate for any form of affection.  
  
“Do you need a hug?” Phil murmurs, and he opens his eyes slightly, tears brimming, and nods frantically.  
  
He’s pulled into a bone crushing hug, and he melts into it, wailing as quietly as he can. He’s distantly aware of Techno and Wilbur joining them, surrounding him in a sort of group hug, and he loses it a little bit more. This touch is so foreign to him, even when his parents were nice they were never, never touchy with him like this, and he can’t help but hate them for it.  
  
“Am I broken?” He rasps out, eyes clenched shut, still clinging to Phil like a child. And Tommy supposes he still is one, though he was never really, truly allowed to be one like he is acting now, and he feels embarrassed all of a sudden, pulling away and swiping at his eyes, face flushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, I’m really sorry.” He insists, refusing to meet their eyes, trying to reign in his tears.  
  
“Sh, sh, it’s ok, don’t apologize, you don’t need to have a reason to cry Toms, we’re here, ok?” Gentle voices soothe him, and he sniffles, both mentally and physically exhausted.  
  
“I want to go to bed,” He mumbles, before blinking and looking up, “Am I allowed to go to bed?” Tommy is met with Techno’s sad smile and Wilbur’s soft mutterings of “Of course, of course you can, you don’t have to ask, c’mon, let’s head up, ok?”  
  
He gives in easily, leaning heavily on Wilbur as he’s led up the stairs again, Techno and Phil trailing carefully.  
  
He’s tucked into bed, soft whispering calming his sleep addled brain, and he reaches out blindly and grabs onto Wilbur’s sleeve.  
  
“Would it be ok if you guys- Could you- Could you stay?” He asks tentatively, blinking in the darkness up at his family.  
  
“Of course we will, Toms” Techno assures, and he nods, letting himself succumb to sleep.


	7. I Love You So

He wakes the next morning to Wilbur curled around him, Techno laying haphazardly at his feet, and Phil passed out in the loveseat across the room.  
  
He carefully extracts himself from his bed, padding down the hallway and into the kitchen, stretching languidly.  
  
It’s early in the morning, a quick check of his phone telling him it’s almost 8:30, and Tommy sets it aside in favor of beginning to make breakfast.  
  
Waffles would be easy enough he reckons, and spends five minutes looking for Wilbur’s waffle maker before realizing he doesn’t have one. Pancakes it is.  
  
Waffles, or pancakes now, was one dish he was no stranger to making. Back at his parent’s house he had been expected to make food for himself, barring dinner.  
  
He’d grown fond of the methodical rhythm that cooking brought, and soon he had a small stack of chocolate chip pancakes on a plate on the counter. Tommy had found the chocolate chips buried deep in the cupboard, and their level of freshness was up for debate, but he’d added them anyway.  
  
He served himself and sat at the counter, eating while looking through his phone. He would stream today, he decided, any longer and people would know for sure that something was wrong.  
  
He resolved to also talk to Wilbur about his permanent housing today. After last night, Tommy felt comfortable enough to admit to himself that he truly believed these people would never intentionally hurt him.  
  
Speaking of Wilbur, Tommy was startled out of his thoughts by the man stumbling into the kitchen. He muffled a laugh, the older’s hair poofed out in the definition of bedhead, and Wilbur flipped him off.  
  
“You made pancakes?” He asked curiously, putting water in the kettle for coffee. Tommy nodded, shoving another bite into his mouth, speaking up when he’d chewed and swallowed.  
  
“Yeah, wanted to say thank you for everything. Last night and whatnot.” He tried for a nonchalant tone, but Wilbur turned towards him with a raised brow.  
  
“You know you didn’t have to do that though, right? You don’t have to prove your worth, we’d keep around even if you laid around all day and did nothing.” Tommy groaned, leaning his head back until he was staring at the ceiling and practically hanging off the back of his chair.  
  
“I know, I know, it’s too early to be sappy and shit, Wil, come one.” He received a warm laugh in response, and straightened up to grin at Wilbur.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, just wanted to make sure you knew and shit. Thanks for breakfast Tommy.” As he spoke, Techno appeared in the threshold, looking tired.  
  
“Tommy made breakfast?” He perked up, adjusting his glasses to sit straight on his nose before heading over to grab a plate.  
  
“Yep, just a warning though, I poisoned two of them, choose wisely.” He cackled as Techno rolled his eyes, swatting at him with an old newspaper from the counter.  
  
“You are unbearable,” Techno deadpanned, settling in a seat next to Wilbur to eat and wait for a cup of coffee, “But thank you for breakfast, nerd.”  
  
They ate in relative silence, Phil walking in about thirty minutes later, cracking his neck as Wilbur complained about how gross it was.  
  
“I figured I’d stream around 9 tonight,” Tommy started, the older three turning to observe him, “I should start streaming again, I don’t want anyone to worry. Just a small stream, don’t worry, I’ll fuck around on the smp or something.”  
  
“Do you want any of us to stream with you? I doubt we’re doing anything, and if you’re hopping on the smp we might as well too.” Wilbur murmured, taking a sip of his coffee.  
  
“Yeah, yeah if you guys wanna stream too that’d be good. I’d like that.” Tommy dumped his plate in the sink.  
  
“I also wanted to talk to you about where I’ll be living. Long-term, I mean.” Wilbur looked up from his mug, nodding encouragingly for him to go on.  
  
“I know Phil has a wife and shit, and Techno has to go home eventually,” He ignored the hurt feeling that bubbled up from saying those words, “So I was wondering if it’d be ok to stay with you Wil? I can pay rent too, and I’ll be clean and everything, and I’m turning 18 soon anyway so-” Wilbur held up a hand to stop him.  
  
“Of course you can stay with me Tommy, and I’ll be damned if you’ll pay rent. You’re still a kid, let yourself be a kid for a bit, yeah?” He deflated slightly, nodding.  
  
“Yeah, ok. Thanks Wilbur.” He conceded, slipping back up the stairs to start on editing a video. He rang Tubbo to keep him company while he worked, and he fully relaxed, falling into the rhythm that he’d grown used to over his year or so on youtube.  
  
He worked for a while, before caving to Tubbo’s pleas and joining a game of csgo with him, informing his friend that he’d be streaming tonight.  
  
“Awesome! If you need a streaming buddy just call me man, you know I’ll always hop on call with you.” Tommy smiled softly, humming in reply and jumping back into the game.  
  
After a few hours of gaming with Tubbo Tommy logged off to get dinner before streaming. He’d never been anxious for a stream before, but he felt a slight nervousness begin to build.  
  
He knew he’d get a few questions about his background, so he figured he’d say he was staying with Wilbur for a little bit, which would hopefully be enough for his viewers to not question anything else.  
  
Phil slid him a plate of food and he murmured his thanks, eating quickly before checking the time. It was half past 7, meaning he had 30 minutes to prepare and set up his stream.  
  
He heads up to his room, laying across his bed and stalling until he physically forces himself up and boots up his pc.  
  
He prepares his stream, biting his lip nervously. It was fine, he could do this. He sent out a quick tweet, took a deep breath, and hit ‘start stream’.  
  
It wasn’t nearly as bad as Tommy had feared it could be. He’d started off as he usually did, loud and energetic, fielding questions about his unfamiliar background.  
  
He had joined the smp, traversing around the world while talking excitedly, falling easily back into streamer mode.  
  
His chat had been overjoyed when he’d hopped in a call with the remaining members of the sleepy bois, whizzing by quickly.  
  
The four of them had dropped canon entirely, preferring instead to goof off and chat, Tommy resolving to build yet another cobblestone tower, much to the despair of his family.  
  
After two or so hours of streaming he was beginning to feel tired, so he wished chat goodbye and sent them over to raid Wilbur, who had gone live a short time after Tommy.  
  
He pushed away from his desk, stretching himself out and shutting everything down. He felt better than he thought he would, just vague sleepiness, and he sent Wilbur a quick text, smiling deviously to himself.  
  
When he got a reply, he shuffled down the hallway and slowly opened Wilbur’s door, peeking his head in. When he saw that he was in view of the camera, and he swung the door open, Wilbur rolling his eyes fondly.  
  
“Chat!,” He began loudly, walking over to Wilbur and leaning over his shoulder to peer into the camera, “Surprise bitch!”


	8. I'll Follow You Into The Dark

Needless to say, Tommy unintentionally (absolutely intentionally) broke the internet. He’d stayed on stream for a little bit, hanging over Wil’s shoulder and being a general nuisance until he got bored, going back downstairs to hang out with Techno.  
  
The man in question was lounging on the couch, and he looked up when Tommy entered the room, moving his legs to give him a place to sit.  
  
“Twitter is losing it.” Techno states, waving his phone at Tommy, who laughs and bats him away. “Yeah, well, you know me. I live to make sleepy twitter cry.” Techno snorts, and they fall into a comfortable silence.  
  
Tommy stretches out his legs, laying them over Techno’s lap. The man shot him a look, but shifted so they were both more comfortable.  
  
After a bit of fucking around on his phone, laughing at twitter’s pain, the usual, he got fairly bored, and glanced up Techno.  
  
The man was on his phone, unaware of Tommy’s staring. He studied the other’s face, trying to commit every little detail to memory. He swallowed, feeling a lump begin to form in his throat. He blinked, and Techno looked over suddenly, catching him staring.  
  
“What? Is there somethin’ on my face?” Techno questions, eyebrows scrunching up. Tommy waves him off, shaking his head quickly.  
  
“No, no, I’m- I was just wondering. Um. When you were planning on going home?” His voice tapers off by the end of the question, pitching upwards, and he becomes uncomfortably aware of how his voice wavered.  
  
“Oh,” Techno blinked, looking vaguely confused, “Well, I was kinda plannin’ on just staying here if I’m honest.” Tommy blinks. Processes.  
  
“What?! When did you decide that? When were you gonna tell me? Fuck you, I was about to get all sad and shit, you dickhead!” Techno stares at him.  
  
“I don’t know, I just thought, well, you guys are all here, and well,” He pauses, clearly considering his words, “You guys are my family, and I wanna be near you guys.”  
  
Tommy sniffles, staring at Techno for a second, before shifting his legs off of the man and scooting over until he could comfortably rest his head on Techno’s shoulder. There’s a pause, and Techno sighs, before moving so his arm is wrapped around Tommy’s shoulders.  
  
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Techno murmurs softly, “And I’m not too good with, well, emotional talks and feelings and such, but- I wouldn’t have left you. I promise.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Tommy murmurs back, voice muffled in the others sweater, “I love you.” Techno snorts, hand lifting to scratch at Tommy’s hair. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too, or whatever.”  
  
“Ohh, are we having a sentimental talk?” Wilbur’s voice broke their silence, and when Tommy looked over he saw the man standing in the doorway, face amused.  
  
“Oi, fuck you!” Tommy retorted, motioning Wilbur over and shoving Techno over to make room. When Wilbur was comfortable, Tommy paused for a second, looking around.  
  
“Oh Phil!” He shouted, Techno and Wilbur wincing at his yelling, “We’re having a moment and you have to be here!” Wilbur huffed a laugh. “Such a way with words.” He snarked.  
  
Before Tommy could beat the shit out of his brother (lovingly), Phil appeared in the doorway, giving them a questioning look before coming over to sit with them, resulting in a shoving match between Tommy and Wilbur to make room for the man.  
  
When they were finally settled in, Tommy looked over at Techno and wiggled his eyebrows, dramatically announcing, “Techno has something to tell you guys!”  
  
“This is why I never tell the child anything first,” Techno groaned, but continued on, “I’m not going back to America. I’m gonna find a place in Brighton.”  
  
Wilbur’s jaw dropped, and Phil raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? You’re serious and this isn’t a prank Tommy is pulling you into?” Wilbur demanded, looking between the two.  
  
“I would never bend to the foolery of a sixteen year old British child, and I resent you for insinuating I would,” Techno says haughtily, before cracking a grin, “I’m serious.”  
  
Wilbur lets out a whoop, before reaching over and mussing up Techno’s hair, which he leaned away from and scrunched his nose.  
  
“Keep the physical contact at a minimum, please.” He scowled, and Wilbur stuck out tongue, reaching over Tommy to poke Techno.  
  
“You guys are children,” Phil comments, a grin on his face, “But I’m happy to hear it Tech, really. We’re happy to have you in Brighton.”  
  
Techno sends him a quick smile that turns into a snarl when Wilbur pokes him again, twisting to steal the man’s glasses.  
  
“Oi! I can’t see without those!” Wilbur cries, and Techno snickers. “That’s the point. Like Sun Tzu once said, if you have the chance to blind your idiot of an older brother, take it.”  
  
“He called me his brother! Dadza, Phil, did you hear that! I’m never letting this go, I hope you know that,” Wilbur crows, and Techno grumbles, red faced, but a smile graces his lips.  
  
Tommy glances away from their antics, catching Phil’s eye. The man smiles at him, soft and slow.  
  
Tommy feels impossibly warm, his chest tight with an emotion he can’t quite place, but if you asked him, he’d call it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, hey guys! I'm really sorry I haven't finished this fic until now, I've been pretty swamped with schoolwork and writers block is a BITCH. In all honesty though, I never would've typed and finished this if it wasn't for like_theletter. Their recent comments have been super heartwarming, and their writing is absolutely incredible, I absolutely recommend checking them out. I promise I'll do my best to get out a new chapter of Chinese New Year, and I'm also working on a new fic, so keep your eyes peeled for that. Until next time!!

**Author's Note:**

> Note that this is no way portrays what Tommy's actual home life is like, this is merely a piece of fiction. If any ccs in this piece state that they are uncomfortable with this type of thing it will be deleted immediately. Kudos and comments are appreciated :]


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